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by happinesssdeceit (crescenttwins)



Category: RustBlaster
Genre: Gen, Imported, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-09
Updated: 2009-06-09
Packaged: 2018-12-14 07:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11778021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crescenttwins/pseuds/happinesssdeceit
Summary: Seven can't read.





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Seven can't read.

It doesn't bother him, though, because none of the vampires back home know how to read, either. They're all in the same boat, all illiterate and no one cares back there. Because over there, everyone is starving and reading doesn't matter so much when someone's trying to rip out your neck. In the Hollow of Despair it is better to know how to sleep lightly, or feed on the sleeping. It is better to be able to read a person's body language to know how they will react.

So no one learns. And wouldn't it be funny, if one day, if someone gets a hold of a manual on how destroy the gates but can't read it? They would just as likely tear it up as eat it.

Seven tried to learn, just after they were trapped in the hollow. It was something to keep the mind off of feeding; it was a distraction for a child. Only, it had taken too long and there were too many things to remember and Seven had hated it. And then his mother had tried to hit him. Except that then she had torn open her finger, and Seven couldn't help but watch the blood ooze from the wound, drop by drop. His mother had tried to stop the bleeding, but something had clicked and Seven hadn't been able to stop himself from drinking from her.

Then came his father, and the older man was no match for him when his mother's blood was feeding his strength. Seven drank his father dry, and his stomach was full but he loved it. The scent of blood drew his neighbors, as well, but Seven couldn't remember drinking from them.

And then there was Six.

Six, who had been alone on the streets for months already, had cleaned Seven and taken care of him.

Seven didn't realize for weeks that the stories that Six whispered in his ear to make him fall asleep were from books.

When the revelation came, that Six could  _read_ , something like pride bubbled in Seven's throat for his friend; he made sure that they went after people with books, now, things that were rarely used now but that Six devoured perhaps even more than blood. Seven thinks that Six might have noticed, because he smiled sometimes at Seven when he thought that he was asleep.

And they're in the other world now, the realm with the blood traitors and the humans, and Seven hates it for being that much more lovely than the Hollow of Despair. But there are books here, endless piles of books that Six has never seen before and even blank ones where people can write their own books.

Seven loves this world for that.

This world has books that make Six's eyes go warm with pleasure, and every time it happens that bubbling feeling gets a little bit bigger. Six is happier still when Seven asks to be read to (although Seven hates stories, he will always remember Six's voice when his nightmares were the worst). Seven tries to listen, but Six likes to pick books where the poor become rich and happy and the ugly become beautiful and  _they are all lies_.

And one day, when Six is sleeping, Seven picks up the book Six has been reading for the past week, a book about a poor family who is struggling to get by. It was a depressing story, one far more realistic than the normal human stories, and Seven wonders if he could read a sad story more easily than a happy one.

But the pages are blank; Six has not been reading from a book; the story about the poor family is about  _them_.

Seven stares at a still-sleeping Six and the pleasant bubbling in his throat becomes thick and choking and dark.


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